


Magen David

by LT_Aldo_Raine



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Canon Compliant, Haguenau, Judaism, M/M, Reconciliation, Star Gazing, War, World War II, star of david - Freeform, עברית | Hebrew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 22:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17568914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LT_Aldo_Raine/pseuds/LT_Aldo_Raine
Summary: Liebgott's gotta take a piss, and who should he find doing a little late-night star gazing other than David Webster?OR: Liebgott thought of words like constellation and galaxy, but what he felt was magnificent. He'd seen stars before, of course, but like Webster said, he'd never seen stars like this.





	Magen David

**Author's Note:**

> Something I scribbled out over the summer and found in a random notebook this morning. 
> 
> Un-beta'd.   
> Enjoy!

Liebgott hated when this happened.

The time was nearing midnight, and he’d just plopped down onto his (admittedly miserable excuse of a) bed to fight for a few hours of sleep until it was his turn for watch duty, when his bladder had promptly decided that _right then_ was a great time to need to take a piss.

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled, flinging off the flimsy blanket he’d stolen from McClung and haphazardly stuffing his socked-feet into his worn boots. Stomping outside, Liebgott flipped up the collar of his army-issued jacket to fight the chill of Haguenau. The cold sting in the air was nothing like Bastogne—would anything ever be?—, but it was just piercing enough to turn the tips of his ears a reddish pink.

Across the river, the Germans were quiet. Liebgott wondered if there were any Nazis out in the night doing the exact same thing as him—taking a leak and gazing over the water. _Hope their dick gets frostbite,_ Liebgott thought lazily, without much bite. When his business was done, the young soldier meant to beat a hasty retreat inside.

Only—

“What the fuck is he doing?”

There, standing in the middle of the Haguenau town square, was David Webster. Stock still, no helmet, chin tilted toward the sky, Webster was like an eerie statue—a memory, an imprint of the soldiers who’d come and gone. “You that jumpy you watchin’ for shells now, Web?” Liebgott’s snark echoed hauntingly in the stark silence. “Guess that hospital really did a number on ya, kid.”

Liebgott was met with no reply.

Interesting. Though Webster liked to believe he was too sophisticated to engage in petty arguments, the college boy often struggled not to rise to Liebgott’s taunts, frequently retorting with clever little quips of his own. Liebgott would never admit it, but witnessing that pristine and perfectly crafted façade of Webster’s crack and crumble—making the other man come _undone_ —happened to be one of his favorite pastimes. So, Liebgott pushed a little further, teased a little harder. “Jesus Christ, Web, go to bed. You’re as safe as can be here, princess.”

Finally, he earned a response.

Webster’s voice was soft as he spoke, almost as if to himself. “I’ve never seen stars like this.”

“What? Stars—?” Liebgott looked up on instinct.

And he was struck dumb.

There were _hundreds_ of stars, all of varying size and brightness, some clustering, others flung out among the darkness. Liebgott thought of words like _constellation_ and _galaxy,_ but what he felt was _magnificent._ He'd seen stars before, of course, but like Webster said, he'd never seen stars like _this._

“Why is it so...?” he asked, breathless with wonder, eyes flittering across the dazzling night sky.

Webster immediately gave some softly murmured explanation, involving phrases like “light pollution,” “war blackout,” and something about a cloudless evening. It was on the tip of Liebgott's tongue to mutter about rhetorical questions, but he _had_ been genuinely curious, and in that brief moment, Webster wasn't completely driving him friggin' nuts. So, the soldier decided to let it be.

The moment carried on around them, silent and somewhat profound, comfortable and almost companionable.

Liebgott was surprised when Webster turned to him, suddenly. With a look both gentle and purposeful, the curly-haired soldier told Liebgott goodnight, his name falling from Webster's mouth like a whisper, and then, Liebgott was alone.

His gaze fell from the sky to the spot where, only moments before, David Webster had stood, a statue reminiscent of soldiers come and gone. Inside his chest, his heart thumped. His stomach knotted. A pulse of longing tickled the back of Liebgott's throat. He did not want to be alone.

He did not want to be alone—not here, not in Haguenau, not in the dark with Krauts across the river, not beneath a Web of stars, thinking about names like David and Hebrew lessons and the little, aptly-named necklace that dangled from his neck.

Liebgott captured his mezuzah in his grasp, fingered the Star of David pendant that hung on the same chain, and stood alone with the stars, full of wonder and wanting in equal measure.

_Magen David_.

* * *

As Easy Company prepared to roll out toward the Berchtesgaden, Liebgott offered Webster a friendly smile and an extended hand, hauling the other soldier onto the trunk bench beside him. The conversation was cliché—life after the war. Wives, houses, work. Things that out there in Nazi Occupied Europe meant nothing but dreams seldomly realized. But they were talking. Liebgott, it appeared, had forgiven Webster for not being in Bastogne, and for his part, Webster seemed to let him.

And that was a start.

If years later, when Liebgott found himself gazing up at a cloudy night sky and wishing, distantly, bittersweetly, for greater sights, had allowed his thoughts to drift fondly to a certain curly-haired, blue-eyed boy, who needed to know?


End file.
